Man, I wish I wrote this Monday: The Sounds of Sunday by Kerima Polotan
One day, she sat longer than she intended. When she stood up, it was evening. A desire to weep had possessed her. He had probably not waited, and it was an eternity to the next Saturday. She began to hurry. At the second corner, she ran, forgetting everything else. When she reached the lighted door of the restaurant, she saw him at the table, a sad, hurt, puzzled look on his face. She stepped in quickly and said, “You are here.”
“Would you have wanted me to go?”
“No,” she said. It was a bold thing to say; it was a perilous thing to say. She felt her defenses go: such a brief word yet it stripped her completely.
He looked at her. “May I wait for you here on Saturday?”
She did not meet his gaze.
“Dear Emma,” he said suddenly.
“Don’t.”
“Em—,” he had never called her that before. “I would like to wait for you,” he continued softly, “here, and in all the places you could possibly think of, for all the hours life will allow me.”
For every good story, there is that one terribly good moment that feels like a punch in the gut. For me, for this story, this is that moment. I’ll always look back to this story whenever I hear the phrase quiet heartbreak.
Submitted by pleasepanda
About time we re-read this gem, hmm.
